


Independence Day

by obsidiangrey



Series: States 'Verse [7]
Category: 1776 (1972), Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical Hetalia, Period-Typical Racism, United States
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidiangrey/pseuds/obsidiangrey
Summary: “Sir, I'd like to stop and visit my family and Philadelphia when I deliver the next dispatch.”“The other members of this army do not have such a privilege, soldier.”“No sir, they don't.”The plan had been to stay a night with the rest of his family – if they'd have him; he knew some were still wary of revolution, and he knew that he'd been the only one willing to actually join the Continentals – and deliver the dispatch to the Congress the following morning.“It would take any other soldier I send twice as long as you do to deliver and return your messages. One day, Jones, I will allow it.”As plans do, particularly in wartime, this plan turned out rather differently.





	Independence Day

**Author's Note:**

> I bet you thought this 'verse was dead, lol.
> 
> Any dialogue you recognize is taken from the 1776 screenplay, not mine, don't own, etc.

_July 4, 1776_

It was raining in Philadelphia.

But despite the rain outside, or perhaps in spite of the gloomy weather threatening to foul their mood much as the British Army was doing, the room in which the Continental Congress met was bright with laughter. Included among the fifty-odd members of the Congress were thirteen young boys and girls, all of different ages and heights and appearances, though their eyes were the same shape and color.

The Colonies had, for the most part, left to join their respective delegations. America had informed the rest of the Congress about his children the day before, although it had taken quite a bit of convincing (it had taken enough convincing for them to believe _he_ was the country which they were trying to form), and the Congressmen were questioning them with great interest. Rutledge had bowed low and kissed South Carolina's hand; Pennsylvania, much to everyone's surprise, was engaged in a scholarly debate with Ben Franklin; Virginia had insisted on wearing trousers, as she was want to do.

In the far back of the room, Massachusetts conversed with John and Samuel Adams, discussing how things were going in Boston. In the far front of the room, close to the table upon which the Declaration rested, Georgia was fussing over New York, who was currently unable to walk without assistance – New York City was still under siege.

“ _Georgia_ ,” he finally said with a sigh. Morris blinked and looked more closely between the two colonies; he, like most of the delegates, had assumed the young black girl accompanying their guests was a slave – it would make _sense_ , after all, considering their status. “Go talk to him. I'm sure he's a nice man.”

“Oh, I'm sure he's nice t'people he meets,” she replied with a shrug, stepping back and looking down at him. Her voice was low, warm, her words tinged with the drawl distinctive of the south. “Am _I_ a person to him or no, that's the question here.”

“Patrick can deal with him if he doesn't think so.” New York offered her a lopsided grin. “I know it isn't my place to tell you what to worry about, not with this, but the worst that can happen here and now is that he won't talk to you, and if he won't, that means he's not worth talking to in the first place.”

Georgia looked at him, expression curiously flat, doubt lurking behind her eyes, but then she straightened up and smoothed out the folds of her dress.

Doctor Lyman Hall glanced up from his papers at the sound of someone politely clearing their throat, only to see a black girl in a fine dress standing at a respectful distance from his table. Unsure of what to say, he watched as she dropped into a curtsey and dipped her head.

“Colony of Georgia,” she murmured, too quiet for any of the other southern delegates to hear. “It's an honor to meet you, Doctor Hall.”

Across the room, New York caught Massachusetts' eye and nodded to where Georgia and her Congressmen were sitting at a table, engaging in what looked to be a rather stilted conversation, but conversation all the same, and grinned. Massachusetts grinned right back. America, standing nearby the Declaration itself, followed their gazes, and his lips curved up in a smile.

At the front, John Hancock stood. “Gentlemen!” he shouted, beating the table in front of him with a fly swatter until the room was silent. “Are there any objections to the Declaration being approved as it now stands?”

Massachusetts' eyebrows climbed into his hairline when John Adams stood up, piece of paper in hand, waving his other hand to capture their attention. “I have one, Mr. Hancock!” he called.

Thomas Jefferson looked blankly at Adams; behind Jefferson, Virginia was wearing a distinctly unimpressed face. The room quieted to a dull murmur, and Hancock seemed to be at a loss for words.

“ _You_ , Mr. Adams?” he finally said. “After everything, _you_?”

“Yes,” Adams said in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Mr. Jefferson, it so happens that the word is _un_ alienable, not _in_ alienable.”

Massachusetts caught Virginia's eye and nodded to show he agreed. Virginia pointedly shook her head.

Jefferson stood primly, hands clasped behind his back, and tilted his chin up. “I'm sorry, Mr. Adams, but inalienable is correct.”

“I happen to be a Harvard graduate, Mr. Jefferson.”

“And _I've_ taken William and Mary, Mr. Adams.”

The Congress had fallen back into laughter, and the colonies were quite entertained by the whole matter. It was almost as though everything they'd been through had faded away into the background with the culmination of their efforts finally coming to fruition-- _independence._

Hancock beat the table with his fly swatter again. “Gentlemen, please... Mr. Jefferson, do you yield to Mr. Adams' request?”

“No sir, I will not,” Jefferson replied.

The two men had a staring contest then, which ended with Jefferson grinning smugly and Adams rolling his eyes, turning back to his table as he waved a hand in the air dismissively.

“Oh, very well, I withdraw it.”

Franklin clapped his hands together. “Oh, good for you, John!”

The Congress roared with laughter, and even Adams fought to hide a smile. He leaned over to speak to his colony in a low murmur. “I'll speak to the printer about it later on, mm?”

America reverently touched the edge of the Declaration, and looked up with a smile as Hancock placed a candle closer so the delegates could see to sign it.

“We are about to brave the storm in a skiff made of paper,” Hancock said, looking down at the paper with much the same reverence, and America stepped back so he could address the Congress. “Very well, gentlemen! How this shall end, God only knows.”

He bent down to sign it. Steven Hopkins peered over his shoulder to look, chuckling slightly. “That's a pretty big signature there, Johnny.”

“So fat George in London can read it _without_ his glasses!”

America choked on a laugh. Georgia herself was muffling her laughter behind her hands, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“The king's father is your namesake, don't you know,” Hall leaned over to tell her.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed, still laughing. “He is indeed.”

“Step right up, gentlemen!” Hancock held up his quill like a man selling goods at the market. “Don't miss your chance to commit treason.”

Some of the men laughed. The colonies of New England seemed particularly delighted at the prospect, but Franklin spoke up.

“Hancock is right!” he declared, glancing sideways at Judge Wilson. “This paper is our passport to the gallows! But there's no backing out now, for if we do not hang together, then we will most assuredly hang separately!” Pennsylvania cracked a grin.

“Oh, for me, hangin' won't be so bad.” Colonel McKean clapped his hands on his belly with what Delaware thought might be a bit of pride. “One snap and it'll be all over, just like that!” He snapped his fingers and winked at Delaware, then pointed at Read. “But look at Read, here-- he'll be dancin' a jig long after I'm gone!”

* * *

Rhode Island pushed open the doors to the Philadelphia Meeting House, leaned back wearily against them as they shut behind him. He was sore from hours of riding horseback through a storm; a close encounter with a British musket ball had left him with a stiff limp that liked to flare up when he was on his feet too much, the wound not yet healed. His uniform was soaked; his boots squelched out water with every step; his hat kept dripping down water into his eyes.

The _plan_ had been to go home. He felt that being in the militia was the right thing to do, but he _missed_ his home. He missed his family, hadn't seen Massachusetts in close to a year, hadn't seen the rest of them in even longer.

“ _Sir, I'd like to stop and visit my family and Philadelphia when I deliver the next dispatch.”_

“ _The other members of this army do not have such a privilege, soldier.”_

“ _No sir, they don't.”_

The plan had been to stay a night with the rest of his family – if they'd have him; he knew some were still wary of revolution, and he knew that he'd been the only one willing to actually join the Continentals – and deliver the dispatch to the Congress the following morning.

“ _It would take any other soldier I send twice as long as you do to deliver and return your messages. One day, Jones, I will allow it.”_

As plans do, particularly in wartime, this plan turned out rather differently.

Rhode Island had taken Providence, his horse, to the carriage house of a family of patriots before sloshing through the storm to his family's house, only to find it locked up and empty. He had stared at the dark windows for a while, then, every passing moment serving to make him all the more waterlogged, and finally resigned himself to the conclusion that they had moved. The post was never quick on its good days, even less so with letters to soldiers in the army; any message they would have sent telling him about it could have easily been lost.

So he had trudged back to the Philadelphia Meeting House, hoping that the leather pouch in which he kept his dispatches would prevent the message from becoming as drenched as he was, and climbed the steps and entered the building.

“Gentlemen, forgive me if I don't join in the merriment, but if we are arrested _now_ , my name is _still_ the only one _on_ the damn thing!”

He frowned at the open doors to the meeting room itself, the laughter rolling out a source of great confusion. What resolution had they passed? What had happened?

His vision was blurry – at first he thought it was the rainwater, but-- no, he was just exhausted. There was an unpleasant buzzing in his ears and an incessant pressure behind his eyes. He looked down at his hands-- they were pale, and wouldn't stop shaking. He was standing in a small puddle. What he needed was a comfortable bed, a single good night's rest. What he needed was for the war to just be _over_ already-- the British could go mind things on their side of the Atlantic and leave them alone. What he needed--

He slowly stepped forward-- one foot in front of the other, that was all he needed. The laughter didn't dim. They didn't notice him, but the room was wobbling, shouldn't they have noticed that? Or-- no, maybe he was the one wobbling. That made more sense, for him to be shaking. He could sleep in the barn with Providence, get some rest before he had to return to the General, he just had to make it across the room first and give the message.

Mr. Thomson was holding it out his hand for the dispatch. Rhode Island had taken the dispatch out of his bag without really remembering the action-- had crossed the entire room without realizing it. He handed it over.

“...lad?”

“...a seat...”

Someone took his arm, led him off to a corner and gently pushed him into a chair, pushed a stein of... _something_ into his hands. He sipped it without thinking, nearly gagged. Whiskey.

God, he loved whiskey. Felt warmer already.

Over his head, Mr. Thomson shared a concerned look with Hancock, though neither was quite sure what to do.

* * *

Across the room, Pennsylvania paused in the middle of her discussions with Ben Franklin, causing the older man to look at her oddly. When she spoke, her voice sounded off-- slightly higher than normal, a little bit more choked.

“Who's the soldier?”

“Hm?” Franklin follower her gaze. Then he nodded, humming again. “Oh, that's the courier. He shows up every now and again with messages from General Washington.”

“Got a name?”

“Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

Pennsylvania didn't answer, murmuring a “pardon,” instead and ducking away, hurrying up to Virginia's side. The oldest colony was standing near her delegates and two of her southern siblings, though she paused her conversation when she caught sight of Pennsylvania's expression.

“That Rhode Island?”

“What--?”

“The _courier_ , Elizabeth. It's Rhode Island, isn't it?”

North and South Carolina regarded the courier with identical expressions, mostly blank and faintly concerned. Virginia blinked once, and then her expression hardened.

“Hardly knows where he is,” she muttered. “The hell's General Washington running him through?”

“General Washington--”

“--is a Virginian, yes, I know.” Virginia didn't seem particularly concerned about speaking critically of him. Pennsylvania, seeing matters were taken care of, went to tell the rest of the middle colonies. “Caroline?”

“Mm.” South Carolina sighed, and though she may have muttered something under her breath about thrice-damned revolutions and fools running off to get themselves killed, she crossed the room and bent delicately over to Massachusetts, murmuring something in his ear. Massachusetts' head snapped up-- he looked to where she was pointing, immediately took up his cane and went to New York-- New York split off to speak with Georgia while Massachusetts hurried about to the remainder of New England-- Georgia murmured an excuse to the delegates still watching her with mistrust and stood and walked to their father.

America paused. Slowly, he turned to look where Georgia was gesturing to, and his face went oddly slack, his lips parting in shock-- and then, before any of the colonies (all watching in silence, all waiting with baited breath) could even blink, he was at his son's side.

Rhode Island startled, finding his personal space quite suddenly invaded by the literal embodiment of sunshine-- he was still shaking, his hands still bloodless, his feet starting to poke through the toes of his boots.

“...You stopped writing,” America finally said. None of the congressional delegates had picked up on the tension between the group, too busy joking and laughing, caught up in the euphoria and daring of the moment.

“...Sorry?” Rhode Island seemed like he had forgotten how to speak. “Went to the house. All... here.”

America looked around with a proud smile before returning his gaze to his son, and his smile got wider. “They voted unanimously for independence. That cause you're fighting for, Robert... you've got everyone's support.”

That seemed to get through, at least, bring the colony back to himself-- he perked up, just a bit, and a tired grin slowly appeared on his face. “General's gonna be awful pleased to hear that, Pa.”

“I'm sure. Was that letter from him?”

“Hm? Oh...”

Mr. Thomson, standing up, was unfolding the parchment to read it to the room, as he had done with all previous dispatches sent from the General. Rhode Island gave a sort of half shrug and gestured for America to listen with a shaking hand.

America frowned and shrugged out of his jacket, tucking it neatly over his son's shoulders.

“From the Commander of the Army of the United Colonies...” Thomson began, but then the man paused. Smiled. “...Army of the United _States_ , in New York.”

Massachusetts caught Rhode Island's eye and beamed. A pleased murmur swept through the delegates.

“Dispatch number 1,209, to the honorable Congress, President John Hancock, dear sir: I can now report with some certainty that the eve of battle is near at hand.” Thunder rumbled outside. “Toward this end, I have ordered the evacuation of Manhattan and directed our defenses to take up stronger positions on the Brooklyn Heights. At the present time, my forces consist entirely of Haslet's Delaware militia and Smallwood's Marylanders, a total of five thousand troops to stand against--” Thomson cut off abruptly, his face pale in the candlelight. “...twenty-five thousand of the enemy, and I begin to notice that many of us are lads under fifteen, and old men, none of whom could truly be called soldiers.”

America's grip tightened on Rhode Island's shoulder to the point where it was almost painful. Delaware, from what Rhode Island could see, was holding Maryland's hand, her eyes shut and her lips moving silently in words that he could not make out. One more desperate prayer, perhaps-- bring them home, dear God, bring them home.

He looked down at his boots and wiggled his toes. One poked through a hole in the leather. Something told him he'd be going through many more pairs of shoes before this was done.

“One personal notice to Mr. Lewis Morris of New York.” Morris looked up from his chair, startled; New York snapped out of the haze which he had sunk into. “I must regretfully report that his estates have been totally destroyed, but that I have taken the liberty of transporting Mrs. Morris and eight of the children to Connecticut in safety.” Morris paled-- house gone, family safe, and yet-- “The four older boys are now enlisted in the Continental Army.”

Georgia in the far back of the room, sitting with her hands folded in her lap, let her gaze drift toward her brothers. She had been there to help Massachusetts get back onto his feet after Concord and Lexington, after Boston-- she had been there to help New York as well, both of them suffering as their cities fell under siege. But Rhode Island-- Rhode Island, who had fought, who had been on the front lines... Some part of her wished to ask what it was like, but another part told her it would be better if she never found out.

“As I write these words, the enemy is plainly in sight beyond the river. How it will end, only Providence can direct. But dear God, what brave men...” Thomson was white as a sheet, now, and his voice cracked when he struggled through the last few words. “I shall lose... before... this business... ends.” He paused- managed to steady his voice, only for his hands to start trembling, the parchment crinkling under his fingers. “Your Obedient... G. Washington.”

And for once, the Continental Congress was silent.

“Well.” New Hampshire looked to the Declaration waiting to be signed on the table, and then to Rhode Island at their father's side, expression determined. “Let us not dishonor our brother's sacrifice.” The words were spoken slow and careful, and not a one of them was slurred or stuttered. Rhode Island felt his throat close up suddenly and his eyes burn as his brother gave him a faint nod and smile.

“Amen,” the Reverend Witherspoon murmured, hearing “brothers” in the plural as opposed to the possessive-- and the sentiment there was not incorrect, but the state only had one brother in mind.

Thomson slowly folded the parchment back up and placed it on the table; New York pointed directly at Rhode Island with his cane, expression solemn. “You give those redcoats hell from us, got that?”

The smallest State's smile was crooked. “Been doing that for months, now, don't tell me you's expecting me to _stop_?”

“Rhode Island's been giving everyone hell for centuries; I don't think he needs the reminder,” Delaware said dryly, with a smile of her own.

“Nah, but encouragement's always nice,” he quipped. Massachusetts snorted; New York ducked his head to hide a grin.

One of South Carolina's delegates peered more closely at Rhode Island, then glanced between him and his colony next to him and America himself, and it took a few moments after that to fully come to the realization. It took longer for others in the room to follow suit. America threw back his head and laughed, a bright, joyous noise.

“We're signing a Declaration in support of the cause you've been fighting for-- encouragement enough?”

“Eh,” Rhode Island answered in the most deadpan voice he could manage while still shivering and took a large gulp of whiskey. His father swatted him upside the head a moment later, the action enough to knock his hat crooked but not much else.

“I say nice things... to you. _This_ is what, I get in thanks.” New Hampshire shook his head with an expression of mock-sadness. Rhode Island cracked a grin.

“Still your favorite brother, though.”

“Eh.”

“After _all I've done for you_ , Jacob...”

And yet, the merriment could only stretch out for so long. The custodian climbed four flights of stairs to ring the bell in the tower above; President Hancock called each delegate forth to sign their names.

The States stood in silence, wide-eyed, watching. None of them felt _different_ \-- the land which they represented was theirs and theirs alone, and it always would be regardless of which country claimed ownership of it and of them, but Massachusetts was hoping, somewhere far across the sea, that England could feel chunks of his empire falling away.

New York rubbed one hand over his chest, trying to soothe away an ache that would remain even after the Continentals retreated from the battles along his coastline.

Rhode Island knew that, cold and tired as he was now, there would be days that were even worse, and he would willingly brave all of them to see his family come out together on the other side.  
The bells chimed overhead, and the rain pounded down on the roof, and delegate after delegate added their names beneath the drying ink of others. America's gaze did not once leave the parchment.

After today, things would not, _could not,_ be the same.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I hope everyone enjoyed, and comments and kudos are always always appreciated.


End file.
